


it sure as hell ain't normal but we deal, we deal

by trishapocalypse



Series: it's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys Being Cute, First Time, M/M, boys being stupid, lots of other things that i can't be fucked to tag right now soz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You don't think I'm worth the risk... <b>That</b> is what this is about," Matty told him, voice trailing off at the end. </i>
</p><p> <i>"I think you're worth it," Harry whispered. "I just <b>can't.</b> It's too hard."</i></p><p> <i>"Relationships aren't supposed to be <b>easy,</b> Harry."</i></p><p>  <i>"Is that what this is?" Harry asked. </i></p><p>  <i>Matty swallowed and shook his head. "That's what this <b>was.</b>"  </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it sure as hell ain't normal but we deal, we deal

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiiii all. This is the followup to the first part, obviously, and umm....it ruined my life. Because Stealy is ruining my life. I've one lady to thank for this, my pal Alex, because she is fantastic in every single way. Pal, thanks for holding my hand and supporting me through this ~journey. I'm nervous to post this only because it's a little more ~emotional~ than my others? Maybe? I don't fucking know, man. I'm gonna stop rambling. I hope you like it!
> 
> As always: hastily beta'd, all mistakes are mine, and Matty is perfect.
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum ! come chat :)

A couple of days later, Harry was stretched out on the mattress, toes curling as Matty’s lips pressed against his collarbone. He twisted his fingers in Matty’s hair, Matty’s tongue tracing across the ink spread across his skin. Harry whimpered, knowing he should pull away, but he didn’t really _want_ to. “Matty— Someone will _see,_ ” he whined, fingers tightening in Matty’s hair, because he didn’t want him to stop, even though he knew he _should._

Matty chuckled, glancing up at Harry, nipping at his skin. “No one will see it, yeah?” he assured him, spreading his hands across Harry’s chest and holding him down. 

Harry grinned, shifting about under Matty’s hands but not to get away, only to feel the pressure of Matty pushing him back down, attempting to still him. “Matty—“

Shushing him, Matty bit a little bit harder at Harry’s skin, tongue soothing over the red mark when he heard Harry whimper. 

And Harry hated him, just for a minute, barely even that, because Matty’s fingers were ghosting across his nipples, his lips tracing up the side of his neck until they were kissing. Harry pulled Matty closer, thighs falling apart as Matty crawled between them, and Harry tried not to think all of the cliché things like how perfectly they fit together or how the curve of Matty’s hips slotted _just right_ against his, how Matty’s hands were just big enough to cup the side of his neck when they were kissing, or the way when they were in bed, Harry’s head fit perfectly against his shoulder. 

(And when Harry woke up the next morning to Matty’s calloused fingers tracing over the bruise, lips against his temple, he couldn’t remember a time with such a fantastic wake up. And he wasn’t even mad that the skin on his chest was raised and red, wasn’t even mad that it was nearly entirely visible if he hooked his sunnies into the collar of any of his shirts. He wasn’t even mad that Louis took the piss all day, calling him out in the one interview that they had— _oh, yeah, Harry’s a total fan of hickies—I mean…hockey_ with that stupid little grin he had. Harry wasn’t even mad that it was splashed all over the internet, that he had thousands of twitter mentions about his “mystery girlfriend.” No, he didn’t care, because he knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.)

 

+

 

Matty didn’t remember the name of the restaurant, and he supposed it didn’t matter, because he and Harry managed to sneak in the back door with minimal obstruction of the fangirl variety. Harry joked about it as soon as they were in the door, being so used to the yelling and screaming that it was odd to him when there was silence. Matty just nodded, humming under his breath, because what _was_ there to say? 

The waiter led them back to their table, not exactly secluded but not around a bunch of other tables either; they were hidden back in the corner, a few decorative plants surrounding them, their backs towards the rest of the restaurant. And Matty was thankful because it was the first time he and Harry were hanging out since the first night Matty stayed at Harry’s flat, woke up in his arms, and snogged him until noon. It was the first time they were out in public, and Matty was anxiously awaiting the twitter explosion that was soon to follow, silently dreading it, telling himself that he could still enjoy the evening. 

Matty expected the conversation to be stilted, though he didn’t know why, because he and Harry had talked for hours already—well, alright, talked and snogged for hours but, really, it was basically the same thing. By the time they got through the appetizer and a bottle of wine, Matty wasn’t able to shut himself up. “We were in the middle of filming Settle Down and—“ Matty laughed, trailing off when he noticed Harry was just _staring_ at him. “What?”

Harry shrugged, a silly little gesture, and he rested his elbow on the table, meeting Matty’s eyes. “I like hearing you talk about things. You’re really…passionate,” he said with another shrug.

Matty rolled his eyes, tried to will himself _not_ to blush, because that wasn’t cool, not at all. “Right.”

“Go on,” Harry urged, picking up his glass of wine and taking a drink. 

“Right, so, we were in the middle of filming, and George was takin’ the piss because—“ Matty trailed off again when he felt Harry’s fingers against his scalp, messing up his hair and twisting and pulling at one of his curls. Matty practically froze, Harry’s fingers so close, and Harry let the strand slip through his fingers; he trailed his knuckles across the side of Matty’s cheek, tapping his finger against Matty’s lips. 

“Go on,” Harry repeated.

Matty knew his cheeks were flushing, thinking distantly that he was happy Harry was known for being affection and touchy-feely, because he was almost positive people could see, that someone was watching and probably had out their bloody mobile and— He shook his head and finished retelling his story. And once he started, he couldn’t shut up, and he found himself rambling on and on about the last year of touring, and all the while, Harry was twisting his fingers through Matty’s curls, tugging on them and dimpling at him whenever Matty would feebly try to smack his hand away. 

Harry only stopped long enough to reach for his wallet, handing his card to the waiter, and declining dessert. He reached back over, messing with the neckline of Matty’s black jumper, tugging it down until he could see the ink spread across his chest. “Let’s go back to mine.”

 

+

 

Matty had been to Harry’s house before; it was beautiful, it was, but he hadn’t been too concerned with _really_ looking at it the last time. He was generally preoccupied, and Harry wasn’t exactly making it a point to show Matty around the family room or the guest bedroom or the bathroom. The only room he really saw was the kitchen and Harry’s bedroom, both of which were quite nice. And when Harry had asked him if he wanted tea, he wasn’t aware that it was some kind of _agenda_ until Harry had him pressed up against the counter, hands on his waist, lips against the front of his neck. 

Matty’s eyes flitted shut as Harry’s mouth worked across the side of his neck; he shivered when Harry’s teeth grazed across his pulse point, his hips jerking forward a little bit and nudging into Harry. “Sorry,” Matty whispered breathlessly, cheeks flushing, because he could feel his prick fattening up in his jeans and that was—

Harry laughed lightly against the side of his throat, stepping between Matty’s legs until their bodies were lined up perfectly. He pulled back and smiled at him, fingers slipping under the hem of his jeans. “Don’t apologize,” Harry told him, leaning up to kiss him, their noses smacking into one another.

Matty’s nose crinkled and he let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for Harry’s waist. He was going to say something else, really was, but Harry shut him up with a quick brush of lips that turned into more, snogging until Matty was nearly breathless. Matty’s fingers were gripping whatever skin he could reach, fighting to pull Harry as close as he could; his cock was straining against the zip of his jeans, and Matty couldn’t even bother trying to hide it anymore. 

Harry’s fingers brushed across the front of Matty’s jeans; he smiled as Matty broke away from the kiss with a hiss, fingertips tightening almost painfully on Harry’s thin, pale hips. Harry wasn’t bothered, leaned a little bit closer to Matty, running his fingers over the front of Matty’s jeans again. “Matty—“

“You don’t have—“ Matty cut himself off, reaching for Harry’s wrist as it trailed across his abdomen. Harry’s fingers were cool, a little calloused, but they felt just right against Matty’s heated skin.

“Want to,” Harry insisted, though his hand was shaking just a little bit. Matty’s fingers slipped from his wrist and Harry fiddled with his belt and the button on his trousers, trying to get them undone. His fingers slipped and Harry curse, gripping the fabric of his jeans, pouting and letting out a quiet little _hmmph_ sound when his fingers seemed to stop working. 

“Hey,” Matty whispered, reaching out and tilting Harry’s chin up with his finger and a little grin. 

Harry’s eyes were wide, a little dilated, and he swallowed. He felt himself nod at Matty’s unwavering gaze, a small smile on his lips.

Matty leaned in, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “You don’t have to,” he repeated, but he didn’t really want Harry to stop—why _would_ he?

Harry’s smile widened and he looked down, steadying his hands and unfastening Matty’s jeans, pushing them down his hips until he could wrap his hands around Matty’s cock. Matty hissed again, mouth falling open slightly, and Harry bit his lower lip, giggling a little bit. “Want to,” he assured him, leaning in to brush their lips together. 

Matty’s hands reached back to the grip the edge of the counter as Harry fisted his cock, jerking him off slowly as their kisses turned more messy and filthy than anything else. Harry was giggling against him, fumbling a little bit, the angle of his wrist was off and Matty was almost there, _almost_ but he wasn’t complaining. 

Harry watched Matty’s face closely, the way his eyes squeezed shut every time Harry twisted his wrist a little bit, the way his cheeks flushed, his lips parted, a little pant escaping his mouth. Matty’s fingertips were white where they gripped the counter, a moan slipping past his lips when Harry slid his thumb across the slick head of Matty’s pick. 

“Harry,” Matty panted, head falling forward and onto Harry’s shoulder, that familiar feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. And it only took a couple of more tugs, thumb pressed against the thick vein on the underside of his cock, and he came with a quiet shout, biting down on Harry’s shoulder to muffle himself. 

Harry let Matty catch his breath before reaching for a towel and cleaning him up, tossing the towel back onto the counter. He pressed his lips against Matty’s cheek before taking a step back and reaching for the kettle.

“Wha—“

“What? Thought my offer of tea was a ruse to get in your knickers?” Harry teased with a wide grin.

Matty’s cheeks flushed and he looked down at his boots, tucking himself back into his pants and fixing his jeans. “No, I—“

Harry laughed, a cheeky little sound, and he leaned in to kiss Matty again. “Doubt I would’ve needed a ruse,” he said with a shrug. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah?” Matty asked with a smile. “Would’ve been that easy?”

“Just would’ve had to use your manners and ask nicely,” Harry admitted, cheeks flushed, as he stepped back into Matty’s arms. He nudged their noses together, smiling into the kiss when Matty pressed their lips together. 

Matty ran his fingers through Harry’s curls, tugging at them softly, watching Harry’s eyes flutter a little bit. “I’ll return the favor after a cuppa, yeah?”

Harry laughed and nodded, nipping at Matty’s lower lip. “You better.”

 

+

 

(It felt like once the first orgasms were exchanged, they couldn’t keep their hands off of one another. And it was difficult, obviously, because it was hard to find time in their busy schedules and, well, with Harry’s level of fame, it was even _more_ difficult. But they managed; Matty actually found it rather amusing, honestly, sneaking into restaurants and buildings and Harry’s house just to get a little bit of alone time with him. And Harry didn’t mind, either, because it meant he didn’t have to leave his house and deal with the paps.)

(Matty was particularly a fan of Harry’s bedroom, the large bed that he was almost positive wasn’t even a King Size or whatever it was called—it didn’t matter. What mattered was the amount of time they just spent _talking,_ about music and touring and what they wanted out of life, what they wanted out of music, what they wanted to create. And it was more than just making a Number One album, it was about changing people’s perceptions of society and themselves, making people _happy_ with who they were. It wasn’t about catchy pop songs or trying to be different. And Harry might not have been exactly who Matty thought, no, but he was _better,_ because he was kind and open and warm and so fucking giving that Matty almost didn’t understand how someone could be so selfless after the amount of times people had taken advantage of him. And Harry was just in awe of Matty, really, because he was passionate and wonderful and intelligent, constantly talking about Kerouac and Bukowski, gesturing his hands wildly as he talked about the themes and metaphors of novels and music and infusing them with every aspect of his life—Harry was completely and utterly infatuated with Matty.)

(And, well, it didn’t exactly hurt matters that they were fooling around whenever they could. Harry had the unique talent of making Matty feel like he was a teenager again, sneaking a kiss in the dark corners of whatever restaurant they were in, a quick fumbling little grope at whatever high-end store Harry felt like shopping at on a Saturday afternoon. It was a rush, really, trying to keep everything hidden, trying to keep the love bites Matty left on Harry’s throat hidden from the public and the paps, whereas Matty just didn’t _care,_ let Harry mark him however he wanted because he didn’t have a publicist breathing down his neck every single day like Harry did. 

It was fumbling handjobs in Harry’s kitchen before tea to blowjobs on the couch, because Matty _wanted_ to and Harry looked _so pretty_ when he was about to come, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezed shut, fingers in Matty’s hair as his hips arched off of the expensive fabric of his couch. It was rushed grinding while they were kind-of-sort-of-but-not-really drunk at Niall’s parties, sneaking away from Liam at Funky Buddah; it was Matty pressing kisses all along Harry’s body before getting him off slowly, taking his time and letting Harry unwind and relax, Harry’s long legs wrapped around his shoulders, begging for more. 

It was Harry taking the edge off for Matty, whether it was Harry holding Matty’s slim hips down and blowing him slowly or Matty’s fingers fisted in Harry’s hair, fucking into his mouth as Harry moaned around him, fingers gripping Matty’s thighs because it was _so good_ and he wanted _more._ It was Harry straddling Matty’s thighs, reaching for his wrist and pressing his fingers against his hole, grinding down against him, panting as he wanted more, _needed_ something else, was desperate to feel more of Matty, sighing happily when Matty slipped two fingers deep inside of him, Harry shuddering and gasping as he came over Matty’s favorite jumper.

It was… It was everything, really, a conglomeration of every little thing. It was lying in bed with Matty talking, Matty’s fingers tracing every inch of pale skin he could reach, nuzzling Harry’s curls. It was Harry’s body twisting around Matty’s until he wasn’t sure where Matty started and ended. It was every step of falling in love, only both of them refused to admit it.)

 

+

 

Matty knew he was the one to blame, really, he did—it was all pretty much _his fault,_ for drinking and being so careless. Harry tried to take the blame, because that was just the kind of person he was, but Matty wasn’t buying it. Like, sure, it was Harry’s idea for them to go out with the lads to whatever club Liam was frequenting for a night out. And Matty wasn’t opposed to going out, wasn’t even opposed to spending time with Harry and his mates. But it was Matty’s idea to pay for shots, plying himself with alcohol until he felt more comfortable because, well, Harry’s mates were lovely, but he really just wanted to spend time with his boy. (And, wow, _his boy;_ that was—that was _new,_ but not unwelcome.)

Either way, whether it was Matty’s fault or Harry’s fault, it didn’t really change the fact that it _happened._ And Matty couldn’t even explain how, barely remembered, and he could easily blame the whiskey and cokes and the lack of food. But he ended up outside, leaning against the brick wall with a fag in hand, Harry standing between his legs and whispering—well, _trying_ to whisper—in his drunken haze about how pretty Matty was, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. And Matty decidedly Did Not blush, not at all, but he knew he was smiling like a fool, tucking his face against Harry’s cheek and whispering in his ear that he was mental, so bloody mental, but so adorable as well. 

When Matty saw the pap pictures the next day, he remembered the moment in an instant, could practically smell the expensive cologne that Harry wore—and not just because he was curled up in Harry’s bed underneath at least four duvets. He remembered the way Harry’s lips felt against his cheek, the undertone to his voice when he asked Matty if they could just leave already and get home, that Harry wanted to feel Matty inside of him (and, well, Matty couldn’t argue with _that_ ). He remembered the soft smile on Harry’s face, his dimple deep, and knew he was smiling just as big, caught up in a moment that he was trying to savor, unaware that others were trying to ruin that same moment. But when he woke up to a note from Harry telling him _not_ to check his email or twitter or anything (which, well, he checked immediately after) and that he would be home by noon to make lunch, he knew what the problem was.

And when Harry came home, shuffling his feet and tugging off his headband, tossing it aside with a groan, Matty didn’t say anything. He stayed seated in one of Harry’s plush, oversized armchairs, setting his mobile down next to him, until Harry curled up on his lap, tucking his face into the side of his neck and muttering some bullshit about how management wanted him to be seen with some so-and-so socialite-slash-model-slash-wannabe-actress or _whatever_ in order to stave off any rumors that were arising because of all the time he was spending with Matty. It was bullshit, _of course_ it was bullshit, and while Matty understood _why,_ he just didn’t see why it was such A Big Deal. And he told himself he would try to get some distance between him and Harry, thought that might’ve been a good idea, but Harry looked up at him with big green eyes, cheeks flushed and his nose pink from sniffling, and Matty knew he wouldn’t be able to do that.

Matty was fucked. They both were.

 

+

 

George managed to convince Harry to come out with them a few weeks later; Matty and the lads were in town for a grand total of forty-eight hours, long enough for their Albert Hall gig and for Matty to crash at Harry’s place, which had become a second home to him for the past month. Matty knew it was a bad idea, knew Harry was getting a bunch of shit from Modest and everyone else, but Harry agreed easily enough. And, well, everyone knew that Matty could _not_ say no to Harry. Which was how he found himself at some restaurant that Adam swore had _the best curry ever, I swear, Matthew,_ crammed into a circular booth with his band mates and his boy. 

Ross and George managed to keep the tone light, well aware of how nervous Matty was; it was the first time he and Harry were hanging out publicly since the huge snafu, and Matty’s palms were _sweating._ But it was nice, really, because Harry got along with the lads (Harry got along with everyone, honestly) and Matty was even having a good time. 

Harry was going on about the Where We Are tour, which was starting soon, talking about venues and stadiums and the set list, and Matty went for it. He placed his hand over Harry’s on the table, ignoring the pointed look George sent him, and bit his lip. But it was weird, didn’t feel right, so he let go, shifting and throwing his arm over the back of the booth, fingers resting against Harry’s shoulder. Harry didn’t falter, just leaned a little bit closer to Matty’s side. 

But it wasn’t—it wasn’t what Matty wanted, what he _needed,_ so he moved his arm back to his side, barely noticing the hitch in Harry’s breath, and rested his hand on Harry’s knee. He allowed himself a solid ten seconds before he started over-thinking the entire thing, feeing Harry’s warm skin beneath his hand, and he went to move away _again_ but Harry stopped him. Harry’s long fingers slid over Matty’s wrist, flipping his hand over and lacing their fingers together, grasping him tightly. Matty smiled, looking down at his lap, losing track of time until Harry leaned over to whisper in his ear, _let’s get out of here._

Matty agreed blindly, didn’t waste time trying to be subtle because, fuck, the lads knew him well enough, wouldn’t waste their time judging him or whatever. Harry phoned for a car, ordered the lads another bottle of wine, and he and Matty slipped out the back, taking the long way ‘round to his house just in case. Matty was breathless, heart racing as they walked in the back door, and he just wanted to get his hands on Harry. 

The second the door was shut, Harry was reaching for Matty’s hand and dragging him towards the couch, pulling Matty down on top of his body. Harry’s fingers were twisted in Matty’s hair, their lips messily brushing together, Harry’s hips arching up and rubbing against Matty. Matty wasted no time, pulling away and dragging his shirt over his head, tossing it aside; he wanted to be as close to Harry as possible, was sick of keeping him at a distance whenever they were in public. 

It was _hard,_ was the thing; Matty wasn’t a physical person, wouldn’t even really call himself a romantic, but there was something about Harry that made him _want_ to be physical and romantic and, well, everything, really, because Harry _deserved_ that. But it was difficult to stay at a distance, not thread his fingers through Harry’s unruly curls, push them away from his forehead, reach for his hand, or draw little shapes on the inside of his thigh. Those things were easy when they were alone, when the only thing separating them was a thin bed sheet or layers of skin, because Harry didn’t want to be away from him. It was easy losing track of time in Harry’s house, forgetting about the outside world until they didn’t have a choice. 

Harry reached up, trailing his fingers across Matty’s stomach, before he sat up and pulled off his own sweater. He lost his headband in the process, giggled a little bit when he tossed his jumper aside and reached for Matty’s hips, dragging him back down. Matty felt his heart jump a little bit, as it always did whenever his warm skin touched Harry’s, pressing his lips against the front of his throat. Harry whined a little bit, tilting his head back and giving Matty better access. “Matty, c’mon, wanna feel you, wanna—c’mon, _please,_ ” he whispered, words slurring together from the mixture of wine and arousal, and Matty _loved_ it, loved how out of his head Harry got whenever he was turned on. 

Matty could’ve teased him, but he definitely wasn’t going to last long at all, so he decided against it. He made quick work of the fastenings of Harry’s jeans, tugging them down his hips, over his long legs, standing up long enough to toss them aside before shucking off his own. He crawled back up the length of Harry’s body, bare limbs twining together; Matty hissed as their pricks bumped together, feeling Harry’s body shake beneath his. And it would’ve been enough for Matty, really, to just rock their bodies together, Harry’s mouth red and open, spouting off profanities that were nearly enough to make Matty blush, but Harry wanted more. 

His thighs fell open as Matty rocked against him, the angle changing just enough, and Matty’s breath caught in his throat. Harry slid his hands down Matty’s back, reaching for his arse, grinding up against him; he tucked his feet against the back of Matty’s knees and arched. “C’mon,” he whimpered, “want you to touch me, fuck, please—“

“I need to get the stuff, Harry, fuck,” Matty bit out, biting at his bottom lip as he felt a smear of precome glide across his belly as Harry thrust up against him.

“Don’t care, c’mon,” he pouted, reaching for Matty’s hand and sliding it between his legs, past his balls, to brush across his opening. “Yeah,” he whispered, feeling Matty’s thumb brush across his hole, “do it, c’mon, need it, Matty, _please._ ”

Matty swallowed and barely pushed in, knew it would be too much, knew it would hurt a little, the stretch and burn of not being prepared properly. But Harry didn’t mind, his eyes fluttered shut as Matty pushed his thumb in, feeling Harry clench hotly around him, and Matty had to reach down to grab the base of his cock, knowing he was going to come soon. “Lemme go get—“

“No,” Harry whined, “like this, c’mon—“

“M’not gonna hurt you, Harry, just let me—“

Harry sat up and pressed their lips together quickly, tongues sliding together and, fuck, Matty nearly forgot what he was gonna _say._ Harry reached down for Matty’s cock, tugging him quickly, before he arched his hips up, pushing Matty back until he was resting on his haunches. Harry shifted a little until he was comfortable, straddling Matty’s lap, the head of Matty’s cock brushing across his hole. 

“Harry—“ Matty gasped out.

Harry didn’t reply; he used his thumb to smear the little bead of precome across the head of Matty’s cock, pressing it against his hole, the head barely breaching him. He gasped at the feeling, rocking down a little for some more friction, but not trying to take more of Matty in. He pouted when the angle changed, the long line of Matty’s dick sliding between his cheeks, but it was _brilliant._

Matty gripped Harry’s hips, holding him steady as he rocked up against him. “Harry—“

“So good, Matty,” Harry panted, pushing his hips back; He could feel the slick slide of precome between his cheeks, against his hole as Matty thrust up against him. It was so much, almost too much, the head of Matty’s cock barely catching on his rim with every swivel of Matty’s hips. Harry dug his fingers into Matty’s shoulders, rocking down quicker, stuttering a little when he felt Matty’s fingers wrap around his cock. And it didn’t take long until they lost their rhythm entirely, Harry spilling across Matty’s fist and chest as Matty’s fingers pulled at his cheeks, the head of his cock pushing against his hole. Harry’s body stilled as he cried out; he wasn’t sure how long it took for Matty to come, could’ve been seconds or hours—he was a little too dazed to really _remember_ anything except the way his name sounded leaving Matty’s lips and the splash of warm spunk dripping between his cheeks and across his hole. Harry didn’t remember when Matty gently cleaned him up or helped him up the stairs to his bedroom, didn’t remember the soft kiss Matty pressed to his forehead, didn’t remember falling asleep in his arms. But he didn’t need to, because waking up next to Matty and doing it all over again the next morning before their gig at Albert Hall was the only reminder he needed.

 

+

 

It certainly felt like something or some _one_ was working against them, really. Because it didn't matter how much time they _didn't_ spend together in public, Harry was still being pulled in every single direction that could take him away from Matty. Modest had him going on two "dates" a week with whichever young and attractive socialite was in London, and it was _awful._ Harry would spend the whole date texting Matty how much he did _not_ want to be there. 

It was bullshit. 

It didn't help when Harry started to ignore calls from Modest whenever Matty was around. Harry knew it was a dangerous game to be playing, knew how much trouble he could get into, but he just wanted time _alone_ before tour started up to be with whoever he wanted. And if that happened to be Matty, then so be it. 

But, really, Modest had _the worst_ timing because the next time they called, Harry's mobile was on the kitchen counter next to him, and he was _just a little busy_ with his legs wrapped around Matty's shoulders, arse hanging off the counter; Matty's lips trailing over the underside of his cock and three fingers deep inside of Harry's tight little body. Harry's knuckles were white from gripping the counter so hard, his curls falling into his face as quiet little curses left his pretty lips. 

"Wanna get that?" Matty teased, grinning up at him as he twisted his wrist. 

Harry pouted, shaking his head. "No, want you to— _fuck_ —want you to fuck me already."

Matty pulled away and stood up, slowing the drag of his fingers against Harry's prostate until the younger boy was keening, fingers grabbing Matty's shoulders and pulling him in for a filthy wet kiss. 

And then Harry's mobile started ringing again. 

Harry pulled away with a curse, glancing over to see Simon's name, and his stomach dropped. "S'Simon," he panted out, worried automatically when he saw he had ignored five calls from Modest. And Simon rarely just called to say hi or see what was going on, he was a busy guy, so Harry reluctantly reached for his mobile to answer it. 

Matty went to slip his fingers out, take a step back, _something,_ but Harry grabbed his wrist, eyes fluttering, refusing to let him move. Harry's pale thighs flexed as he held Matty close, brow furrowing as he listened to whatever Simon was saying. And Matty knew almost instantly that it wasn't good and he rubbed his hand across Harry's thigh in an attempt to soothe him. 

Harry muttered a quick goodbye and hung up, setting his mobile on the counter and sliding it away. He didn't say anything to Matty, just reached for him and pulled him into a rushed kiss.

Matty withdrew his fingers from Harry's body, ignoring the little whine that left him, and took a reluctant step back. "What did he say?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry told him, trying to pull him back in for another kiss. 

"Was it about us?"

"Matty—"

"Was it?" he repeated. 

"It doesn't _matter_ , Matty," Harry insisted, his tone sharp. 

"Harry, if you're getting into trouble because of us—"

"I don't wanna bloody talk about it, Matty," Harry snapped. "I want you to fuck me."

Matty swallowed and took another step back, Harry's thighs falling from his hips, and he crossed his arms. "Well, I'm not gonna fuck you if you're clearly this upset over something"

"Why not?" Harry asked, a mixture of a pout and frustration on his pretty face. 

"Because," Matty said simply, shrugging. "Don't want our first time to be, like..." he trailed off with a waving gesture of his hands, not knowing how to say it. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Our first time doesn't have to be so bloody romantic, Matty, it's not like we're boyfriends," he snapped. 

Matty's stomach dropped and he felt _sick._ "I know," he forced out, trying to keep his tone even, but he was _hurt._ "I know we're not boyfriends. But I also don't know _what_ we are."

Harry sighed, rubbing his hands through his curls and over his face. He hadn't meant to snap, hadn't meant to hurt Matty's feelings. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have—"

"Well, you weren't wrong," Matty muttered with a shrug. "I think I should go."

"Modest claims I'm breaking contract," Harry whispered. "Ignoring the calls, not doing what they say, being seen with you a lot," he explained. "They—" 

"They what?" Matty prompted gently, taking a step closer to his boy and cupping his face in his hands. "I'm here, Harry, talk to me."

Harry cleared his throat, reluctantly meeting Matty's eyes. "They're trying to tell me I can't be seen with you anymore. You're a…liability or something." 

"Oh," Matty deadpanned, feeling his stomach twist. He should've been _laughing,_ is what he should've been doing. The whole situation was so fucked up that it was _funny._

"So," Harry shrugged, "they want me to come in. To yell at me about how stupid and reckless I'm being, probably. That's why I wanted..." Harry sighed. "That's why I wanted this. Because I don't know if we'll get another chance." 

Matty nodded. "I should go."

"Matty, please—"

Matty shook his head, willing himself _not_ to tear up. It wasn't Harry's fault, and Matty didn't want to make him feel worse by doing something so stupid as _crying_ in front of him. And Matty wasn't even a crier. "No, I should," he insisted. "I don't want to get you in any more trouble.”

"I'm already in trouble, Matty. S'not like it'll get worse," he muttered bitterly. 

"I'm gonna go," he repeated, pressing his lips to Harry's forehead before pulling away and searching for his clothes that had been thrown all over the kitchen in their haste to get naked and touch one another. 

"Matty—"

"I can't _do_ this, Harry," Matty snapped, pulling on his jeans and reaching for his shirt. "I can't hide this, alright? I can't—I can't go out in public and not touch you. I just _can't._ I thought I could, but," he shrugged. 

"I can't be your boyfriend, Matty," Harry whispered. 

"I know."

"It's different for you. No one c—I've too much to lose. I—"

"Excuse you?" Matty asked, eyebrows rising. 

Harry swallowed. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Then how _did_ you mean it?"

"I—I just meant that with, y'know, the tour coming up and—"

"You have more on the line than me, is that it? You want to act as if you're risking more, but we _both_ are. You might be more famous than me, Harry, but don't act like—" Matty cut himself off with a shake of his head, pulling his shirt on. 

"Don't act like _what_?"

"No, we're both upset. I'm not gonna say something I can't take back," Matty told him. 

"Don't act like what?" Harry repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's halfway out there, so you might as well finish your thought."

"No one's going to care in a few years, Harry," Matty said quietly. "You're in a boy band, alright? And that's great, I love pop music, I've loved writing with the lads. But statistically speaking, you don't have the sort of longevity that my band does, alright? Boy bands fade, and people forget. Don't act like you'll still be making albums with these lads in ten years. You don't think I'm worth the risk. You’re using the band as an excuse, some really bullshit excuse because _I’m_ in a band, too. Just own up to it, yeah? _That_ is what this is about," Matty told him, voice trailing off at the end. 

"I think you're worth it," Harry whispered. "I just _can't._ It's too hard."

"Relationships aren't supposed to be _easy,_ Harry."

"Is that what this is?" Harry asked. 

Matty swallowed and shook his head. "That's what this _was,_ " he corrected. "Have a good tour, Harry."

"Matty, don't go—"

"I think you need time to figure it all out," Matty told him. 

Harry scoffed. "Don't treat me like I'm a child, Matty."

"I'm not trying to," he insisted. "But I'm ready, I'm all in. You're not. So what else is there to say?"

Harry sighed, shrugging, and he shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. 

Matty walked over to him, pressing his lips against his forehead, his temple, his cheek, the corner of his lips, trying to savor the taste. "It's up to you, Harry. I'll give you time to figure everything out. You just find me when you're ready, alright? We'll just be mates until then."

"Matty, please don't go," Harry whispered. 

"I can't be around you and not touch you, Harry—"

"Then _touch_ me, please, don't go," Harry pleaded. 

Matty kissed Harry quickly before pulling back. "Remember what I said, Harry," he told him quietly before gathering the rest of his things and leaving. It was the single hardest thing he ever had to do, but it was _necessary._ He didn't want to hide his relationship with Harry, didn't want to act like nothing was going on, and he definitely didn't want to pretend that he wasn't falling heels over head in love with Harry Styles. 

 

+

 

Matty went back on tour and proceeded to ignore all of Harry’s calls or texts. He didn’t go so far to block his number, didn’t have the heart for that, and—okay, he didn’t really _ignore_ the calls or texts, he just didn’t reply. He still had some of the messages saved ( _I’m sorry, Matty, please talk to me? .xx_ and _I’m such an idiot. I hope you forgive me. xx_ and _I told Modest where they could go… Simon’s mad… The lads understand… I think I’m ready, Matty… xx_ ) and he wanted nothing more than to call him, hear the familiar tone in his voice. But whenever he had that urge, he just listened to the only voicemail Harry actually left him, in the middle of the night where Harry was and in the middle of Matty’s set in Japan, voice cracked and Harry was obviously drunk, but Matty saved it anyway.

_Hi, Matty, it’s—it’s me, um. I—I know you don’t want to talk to me. You haven’t returned my messages or tweets or— God, that sounds so stupid, but. I talked to Modest and Simon and… They’re not happy with me, Matty, and I don’t **care.** I just—I’m ready, alright? You—You told me to come to you when I’m ready, and I’m ready now. Please, just— Call me, okay? Please. I miss you._

Harry had left that message three weeks after Matty walked out on him, and Matty listened to it almost every single day. But he didn’t have the heart to call Harry, not yet, he just…wasn’t ready. Or, well, maybe it wasn’t a matter of being _ready,_ but a matter of making Harry wait, making him sweat it out, and Matty might’ve been a little bit masochistic for wanting Harry to hurt as much as he did. 

“Ever gonna tell me what’s wrong and why you haven’t mentioned Harry in almost a month?”

Matty frowned as George sat down on the couch next to him, handing him a joint. “Sorry?”

George rolled his eyes. “What happened? The lad’s tweets are more than depressing lately.”

“Are they? Hadn’t noticed,” Matty lied, taking a hit from the joint before handing it back to George. He blew the smoke out slowly, resting his head back against the couch, letting the gentle rocking of the bus lull him into a false sense of security. 

“Anyone can see you’re arse over tit for the lad, yeah?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Matty shrugged. “He doesn’t wanna be with me.”

George frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t think I’m worth the risk,” he muttered bitterly. “Now he says he’s ready but… I don’t think he is. I think he misses having someone there, yeah? Not… Not _me,_ not necessarily.”

“Matty—“

“He’s just—He just—I wanna be his _boyfriend,_ George. I feel like a total wanker, like. His management has him dating every available girl—“

“Matty,” George interrupted with a sigh, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “If he says he’s ready, you need to talk to him.”

Matty frowned. “I don’t _need_ to—“

“You do. You know you do. Don’t push him away and hurt him just because he hurt you. That’s not you, Matty,” George told him.

“But—“

“He hurt you, I know, it’s obvious,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t do the same thing to him.”

Matty sighed, taking the joint from George and taking a slow hit. “Wanna know the most fucked up part?”

George laughed, running his hand through his hair and nodding. “Of course.”

“Think I’m in love with him,” he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked over at George who was just looking at him. “What? It’s fucked up.”

“It’s kind of expected with you, Matty. All of your relationships are fucked up.”

“Hey—“

“That girl in sixth form? And the boy after her? Need I remind you of—“

“Alright, alright,” Matty interrupted with a self-deprecating laugh. “I get it.”

“Actually, Harry’s probably the least fucked up person you’ve been with,” George noted with a small smile.

Matty frowned again, crossing his arms and staring at his best mate. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

“Call him,” Matty muttered reluctantly with a sigh.

 

+

 

Matty didn’t call Harry. He meant to, kind of, only…not really. He just—He didn’t know what to _say,_ really. And it wasn’t the best choice, because they next time they ran into each other, it was at some shitty award show in the States, in front of hundreds of cameras. And Matty might not have told George that he never called Harry, but he was almost positive George already knew. 

Matty caught Harry’s eye across the carpet from where he was posing with the rest of the lads. And, fuck, Matty nearly forgot how _good_ Harry looked. It was the middle of May and Matty couldn’t tell from the tight black jeans, black sheer shirt (nearly all the way unbuttoned, of course) and a blazer, his curls pushed away from his face in a way that actually made Matty a little sad. But, well, Matty couldn’t judge his outfit because he was essentially wearing the same thing—black on black on black, as per usual. 

Matty swallowed, trying to play it cool, as he watched Harry make his way across the carpet and over to where Matty was posing with the lads. The cameras instantly turned to Harry, the screams almost deafening, and Harry wrapped his arms around Matty as the cameras clicked around them. And Matty couldn’t even bring himself to _care_ about the bloody cameras, and he hugged him back as if they were the only two people on the planet. 

He couldn’t hear the words Harry whispered in his ear over the crowds, but he could feel _the photograph_ as soon as it was taken, when Harry was pulling away and Matty’s hand was tight on his hip, holding him in place, possessive. It had been too long since they were in each other’s presence, each other’s arms, and it felt so good, even if Matty didn’t think anything had really changed. 

But he felt it, a little change in atmosphere as Harry stuck by his side, dimpling for photographs while keeping his arm around Matty’s shoulder. He felt it in the way Harry refused to sit at One Direction’s table in the center of the room, choosing to stay with Matty and the lads at their table on the far left, sitting next to Matty, their knees knocking under the table. 

Harry reached out, fingers trailing over the inside of Matty’s leg, squeezing when they announced some award that Matty didn’t give two fucks about. He only started paying attention when he heard Grimmy’s voice, looking up to see some stupid pre-recorded video of him introducing something about One Direction, casually bringing up Matty and Harry’s romance— _oh, sorry, I meant **bro** mance, my bad, mates_—and Matty knew the camera was on them, could feel himself flushing, and was praying to every single deity that he didn’t even believe in that no one could see Harry’s hand on his thigh under the table. 

Matty zoned out for the rest of the evening. He zoned out when his band lost an award that didn’t even matter, zoned out when One Direction one some award that caused Harry to stumble onstage, awkward and fumbling, deep voice carrying out over the room as he thanked their fans and everyone in the world—whatever, Matty didn’t _care,_ he just wanted to go. And it felt like hours later when Harry found him by the way, fingers trailing over his elbow, asking if they could go back to his and talk.

“My hotel is closer,” Matty found himself saying, and Harry nearly tripped over himself calling a car and getting them out of the building as discreetly as possible.

Matty knew they had to talk, should’ve been talking on the drive over, but Harry’s hand was high up on his thigh, and nothing else mattered. By the time they got into Matty’s room (after dropping the key only twice— _only_ ), Harry’s shirt was fully unbuttoned, his blazer halfway off, Matty’s shirt was hiked up over his hips, and the only thing Matty was questioning was _why aren’t you naked, Harry, shit._

Harry pulled away long enough to strip naked, falling to his knees in front of Matty, and reaching for his trousers.

“Harry, we should—“

“Talk in the morning,” Harry interrupted him, tugging Matty’s jeans down over his thighs. “This first, okay? Need this, need _you._ ”

Matty couldn’t even find the words to agree, his head falling back against the door as Harry wrapped his lips around him, and he completely lost his train of thought.

When he woke up in the morning, it wasn’t to chocolate curls in his face or a pale arm over his waist, a thigh over his hips, it was to a breeze from an open hotel window and a piece of paper on the pillow next to him.

_Matty,_  
I meant it when I said I was ready, but I still need more time.  
I don’t expect you to understand, but I hope you don’t hate me.  
Please don’t ignore my calls this time. I’m still trying to figure us out. I need your help to do that.  
Love,  
Harry xx 

Matty crumbled the piece of hotel stationary in his hand and groaned, raising his hand to toss it aside, but he stopped. He sucked in a deep breath and un-crumbled the paper, smoothing it out, laying it flat on the pillow again. He made his way to the window and chain-smoked an entire pack of fags while thinking about the way Harry sighed the note, _love,_ something he had never done before. And Matty didn’t want to read too much into it, but he _did,_ and he found himself reaching for his mobile and pulling up his twitter app.

Harry had been papped leaving the hotel in the same clothes from the night before, but Matty recognized the necklace that Harry had hanging from his throat as his own. His heart swelled at the thought of Harry unclasping it from his neck as he slept, slipping it on, keeping a part of Matty close, and he wasn’t even upset. He was upset Harry had _left,_ even more upset by the trending topics asking who Harry’s girlfriend was or who he was with at the hotel. He was upset with videos that fans posted of paps jeering at Harry, asking about the Freudian romance slip courtesy of one Nick Grimshaw from the awards show the night before. 

But he wasn’t upset with Harry’s response. _”Me and Matty? We like each other. What else matters?”_

And Matty didn’t want to give up on Harry, didn’t want to find any more excuses to stop what they were doing, because George had been right. Matty was arse over tit for the lad, and it was embarrassingly obvious. So if Harry wanted— _needed_ —more time to work on how Modest was going to put up with it, how the lads would react, how his family would react— _whatever_ —then Matty was going to give it to him.

 

+

 

Harry frowned at Nick from where he sat on top of Harry’s countertop, a mug of tea in his hand. “I don’t see why you’re laughing.”

Nick shook his head, reaching up to wipe at his eyes.

“You’re being dramatic,” Harry muttered.

“ _Me_? Never,” Nick said with a wave of his hand. “Think that’s you this time, mate.”

Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning back against the counter. He looked away from Nick, knew he was telling the truth, and studied the scuffmarks his boots had left on the kitchen floor earlier that day. 

“You told Anne about him, Harry,” Nick told him quietly. “You told Gemma. You told Robin. When was the last time you did that?”

Harry shrugged. 

“Wanna know what I think?”

“No.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “The way I see it, you wouldn’t have asked me over for tea and a chat about Matty if you didn’t want my opinion.”

“I never want your opinion,” Harry grumbled. “I don’t even know why I told you. Just forget about it.”

“Of course you want my opinion, don’t be silly.” Nick grinned before taking a sip of his tea. “After all, I am the one who brought the two of you together—“

“Yeah, yeah—“

“Get your head out of your arse, Haz.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he looked up, affronted. Nick had always been honest, brutally so, but this—

“Get your head out of your arse,” he repeated. “Just… Get over all of the bullshit, yeah? Fuck Modest, fuck if they get angry, because it won’t last forever. But you and Matty?” He shrugged. “Maybe you two could, yeah?”

“Nick—“ Harry started but cut himself off, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Look, Haz, you’re young, yeah? But… I’ve never seen you so happy, so comfortable with someone, and this is different from the lads, yeah?”

“Nick—“

“Let me finish,” Nick said softly. “I’m not saying Matty’s your soulmate, you’re gonna get married and have two and a half kids and a dog—“

“A cat,” Harry interrupted with a silly little smile and a shrug.

Nick rolled his eyes. “A cat, then, whatever. My point is, he’s already a part of you. He’s embedded in your skin, mate. And everyone got used to it, y’know? It’s been Harry and Matty, Matty and Harry, or my fabulous term—thank you very much—Stealy—“

“Ugh, don’t do that, Nick,” Harry said with a laugh.

“My point _is,_ young Harold, that you two are disgusting and you click and yeah, yeah, puzzle pieces and all that rubbish. It’s love. And you know it,” he told him.

Harry swallowed and looked over at him slowly. “You—You think it’s love?”

“Don’t you?”

“I—I mean, I thought…” he trailed off and shrugged. “I can’t tell with him.”

“Have you ever thought that’s because he doesn’t know how to be honest with you? You’ve kind of…pushed him out, Haz,” Nick explained softly.

Harry sighed. “I know. I just—I thought—I don’t know what I thought.”

“Have you ever thought about having this conversation with him?”

“Yes.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose and he nodded. “Maybe you should call him.”

“What if…”

“No,” Nick snapped, shaking his head. “What if nothing. Call him. Tell him you love him and want to have this greasy haired babies—“

“His hair isn’t greasy,” Harry protested. “It’s the product. His hair is curly like mine.”

Nick rolled his eyes with an exaggerated groan. “I don’t _care,_ Harold. And please, for the love of God, don’t tell me what his hair smells like when you two wake up in the morning,” he muttered.

Harry grinned. “Oranges and cigarette smoke.”

Nick frowned. “You’re rubbish.”

“ _You_ are,” Harry told him with a fond smile. “Thank you.”

Nick shrugged. “S’what mates are for.”

 

+

 

Matty had been playing shows for almost a decade, had played in all sorts of situations, when he was pissed and when he was high, had played through sprains and nearly broken bones and broken hearts. But it was different standing in front of the crowd for the first time after his talk with Harry, was different now that he knew where he wanted to go, who he wanted to be with, and didn’t know how to get there, how to _get_ to Harry. 

And then he was introducing Robbers, one of the only songs he wrote that he could ever call a _love song,_ and it just didn’t feel right, his heart wasn’t in it. The lines came easily enough, words he had known for years, and it only took a minute for Matty to scan the crowd and find him. And he knew he was trying to be conspicuous, a black hood pulled over his signature curls, trying to shield his face, but Matty _saw_ him. And it didn’t take long for Matty’s stomach to settle, the nerves to disappear, and he thought maybe, maybe they could make it work. 

And after the final chord, the nerves were back, settling in the pit of his stomach, his palms sweating and heart racing. George practically pulled him off stage, through the halls, through the throng of screaming girls, and onto the bus. Matty nearly tripped over his own feet as he saw Harry waiting for him, pacing nervously in front of the couch, hoodie thrown aside. His curls were mussed, his cheeks flushed, and his lip was bitten red and swollen, and Matty knew, _knew_ that he was nervous, could feel it in his bones. 

“Hi,” Harry said quietly as he stopped pacing, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans. He teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Hi,” Matty echoed, mentally cursing at how bloody _stupid_ he sounded. And, wow, he thought was over that, over the nerves, over not knowing what to say in front of Harry. But apparently he wasn’t, and he felt like an idiot all over again.

“Right,” George drew out with a roll of his eyes. “We’re going to meet some fans, then go out for a drink.”

“Oh, shit, the fans,” Matty muttered, shaking his head. “I just gotta change and—“

“Not tonight, mate,” Adam said. 

Matty frowned, head tilting to the side, and Adam did that little eyebrow-raise-head-tilt that Matty _hated,_ and he sighed.

“We’ll be back in a bit, yeah?” George told him, reaching out to pat Matty’s arm, before leading Ross and Adam off of the bus. 

Matty flinched when the bus door slammed shut, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you like the set?”

“I like _you,_ ” Harry answered instead, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

“Harry—“

“You said I needed time, yeah?” he asked.

Matty nodded. “To—“

“To figure out what I wanted, to figure out if I was all in,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Are you? Are you still… Are you still all in?”

“Of course, Harry,” Matty told him quietly. “Never stopped.”

“But you—“

“I was giving you space, time,” he said with a shrug. “I wanted it to be right.”

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “It is right, Matty. It’s always _been_ right. It just…took me some time to catch up.”

Matty swallowed and leaned back against the edge of the table, needing a little bit of support at the intense look in Harry’s bright green eyes. 

When Matty didn’t say anything, Harry continued. “I don’t know. I talked to my mum, to Gemma, and to Grimmy about…soulmates and dogs and half-cats,” Harry slowed down with a shake of his head. “No, not half-cats, two and a half kids,” he corrected.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Matty asked with a little smile on his face because, fuck, Harry was all kinds of adorable when he was rambling. 

“It means, like—There’s half-cats and—No, shit, half-kids, like—“

“Harry!” Matt interrupted with a surprisingly loud bark of laughter. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath and moved to stand in front of Matty, wringing his hands together in front of him. “I want you, okay? I want to be with you and your pretentious rants about books and Kerouac and Kafka and other shit I don’t care for. I want you and your sleepy smile in the morning and your excellent taste in music—“

“I do have great music taste,” Matty mumbled.

“Matty,” Harry said a little forcefully, not mean, but he was pouting. 

“Sorry.”

“I want _you,_ Matty,” Harry repeated. “I love you,” he rushed out without thinking, words slurring together.

Matty’s eyebrows furrowed and he paused. “What?”

“I love you,” Harry enunciated, for some reason feeling a little bit more confident when taking in the shocked look on Matty’s face. 

Matty stared at him for a second before reaching for Harry’s hands, tugging him closer with a smile. Harry stuttered under his breath as Matty’s hands left his wrists and found the loose fabric of his white t-shirt, pulling him in and kissing him hard. “You’re an idiot,” Matty told him between kisses. 

“I am not,” Harry pouted.

“You are,” Matty said with a grin, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip. “I love you, too, by the way.”

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What a romantic.”

“And I want half-cats with you, too; they sound lovely.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush and he looked up at Matty from under his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

Matty nodded, brushing his knuckles across Harry’s cheekbone. “Yeah.”

Harry leaned in again, pressing their lips together, allowing Matty to wrap his arms around his waist and hold him closer. He would’ve been content to stay like that forever, wrapped up in Matty’s arms and just _kissing_ him, because it was fantastic and it felt like home or—whatever. “Matty,” Harry mumbled, pulling away from him slowly.

“Hmm?” Matty prompted, lips moving to the side of Harry’s neck, biting into the pale skin until it was all red and blotchy, pulling away with a grin.

“Um,” Harry started, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “I—I want—“

“Spit it out, love,” Matty teased, smoothing his thumb in a soft circle over the skin of Harry’s hip where his shirt had ridden up just a little bit. 

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut before he forced them open, a small whine leaving his lips as Matty pressed his thumb down a little harder. “I—I want you,” he told him, cheeks flushing, “to fuck me.”

Matty swallowed, hand stilling, thumb pressed against Harry’s hip. “Yeah? You sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, swaying forward a little bit and pressing his lips to Matty’s cheek, close to his ear. “C’mon, Matty.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat as Harry mouthed at his neck, pawing at the waistband of his jeans. 

“Tell me you’ve lube,” Harry said his voice dropping as he palmed Matty through his jeans.

Matty nodded. “Yeah, I’ve—Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat again.

Harry forced himself to take a step back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, and he nodded. “You should get that.”

Matty laughed, a little nervous, and he nodded. “I’ll be—I’ll be right back,” he promised, stepping out of Harry’s arms and escaping to his bunk. He sucked in a deep breath as he shifted through his bag, fingers finding the full bottle immediately. He paused for a few seconds, trying to center himself, ground himself with the weight of what was about to happen. When he made his way back out to the lounge, Harry was lying on the couch, naked, fisting his cock slowly, and Matty sputtered. 

“C’mon,” Harry repeated, removing his hand from his cock and letting it rest against his stomach. 

Matty walked over to him slowly, almost in a daze, and dropped the lube on the couch next to him. Harry smiled cheekily, a little laugh leaving his lips, and that was all Matty needed to get moving. He yanked his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor, and shimmied out of his jeans, nearly tripping over his boots in his haste to get on Harry’s level. 

Harry reached for Matty’s hand and tugged him down onto the couch, thighs falling open easily and framing Matty’s body. Harry flushed under Matty’s gaze, not quite embarrassed but definitely feeling on display as Matty just _stared_ at him. “Matty,” he whined, pouting. 

“Sorry,” Matty whispered, leaning down to press his lips against Harry’s temple. “Sometimes I forget how beautiful you are.”

Harry could feel his flush deepen and he squirmed a little underneath Matty, another whine leaving his lips. 

Matty reached up and pushed Harry’s curls out of his eyes, kissing him quickly. 

“Get on with it, Healy,” Harry teased with a grin, his stomach twisting pleasantly as Matty rolled his eyes. 

Matty smiled and sat back on his heels, popping open the bottle of lube and spreading some over his fingers. He watched Harry reverently, in awe as the younger boy easily spread his thighs, resting his feet on the couch on either side of Matty, and just _waited._ Matty swallowed, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead, tripping over words like _are you sure?_ and _you’re so fucking beautiful_ and _fuck, this just feels **right,** yeah?_ He pressed his fingertips against Harry’s rim, pushing in slowly, and Harry’s back arched. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasped, hands flying to Matty’s biceps to steady himself as he cursed again. He tugged Matty down into a messy kiss, more teeth and tongue than any sort of actual coordination, a needy whine leaving him as Matty easily slipped a third finger inside of him. 

Matty could’ve watched Harry fall apart on his fingers forever, he really could’ve, the little needy sounds leaving his lips, his flushed cheeks, his big green eyes, he was a _vision._ He was the most beautiful thing Matty had ever seen, and he was kind of all _his,_ it was brilliant. Harry’s hips arched off the couch, legs wrapping around Matty’s waist, trying to pull him in closer, deeper. 

“Matty— _Fuck_ —“ Harry panted. “C’mon—“

“You sure?” Matty teased, twisting his fingers, rubbing along the edge of his prostate.

Harry’s thigh twitched and he dug his heel into Matty’s calf. “Fuck—Yes, I’m _sure,_ c’mon, _fuck me,_ ” he whined, trying to sound demanding but it didn’t work. 

Matty smiled fondly, kissing Harry’s forehead as he slipped his fingers out of him, coating himself with some lube before dropping the bottle to the floor. He guided himself towards Harry’s rim, the head barely slipping inside, and Harry keened, digging his fingers into Matty’s arms as Matty slid deep inside of him.

Harry gasped, head falling back against the couch, curses falling from his lips. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ oh God,” Harry whispered, thighs flexing, and he waited a moment before rocking back against him, Matty slipping a little further. 

“You okay?” Matty asked, breathless, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of Harry’s head as he allowed him to adjust.

Harry nodded, curls falling into face. “Yes, yes, _fuck,_ move, Matty, please, please,” he begged, nails digging half-crescent shapes into Matty’s arms. He wanted more, _needed_ more, couldn’t get enough of Matty at all, and he tried to convey it with his words, but the only thing that came out were a mixture of curses and Matty’s name and _please._

Matty rocked into him, slowly at first, and he felt like a teenager again with how close he was. And Harry was tight, so tight, he knew he wasn’t going to last. 

Harry pulled him down until Matty collapsed against his chest, barely moving his hips, and Harry kissed him, then, slow and sweet, before he pulled away with a wide smile. 

Matty pulled back and snapped his hips forward, punching a loud groan out of Harry as he hit his prostate smoothly, repeating the action until Harry was writhing beneath him. He slid a hand down Harry’s side, reaching for his thigh, pushing it back against his chest and thrusting deeper, harder, and Harry was a mess, a beautiful mess, eyes squeezed shut as he panted beneath Matty. 

“More, more, Matty, need—fuck—“ Harry gasped, arching his back and trying to rock his hips downward to meet the thrust of Matty’s hips. 

Matty’s grip tightened on Harry’s thigh briefly before slipping to his hip, holding him down as he fucked into him. 

Harry whimpered, hissing in pain.

“Fuck, sorry,” Matty grunted, moving his hand to the couch.

“No, no,” Harry insisted, breathless, grabbing Matty’s hand and placing it back on his hip.

“Don’t wanna hurt you—“

“S’okay,” he repeated, “like it.” 

Matty cursed, hips snapping forward, and he latched onto Harry’s hip hard enough to bruise. He was losing himself, lost in the sensation of Harry’s hips and hands and everything _Harry._ He was gonna come, knew it was only a matter of time, and he shifted, resting his weight back on his thighs and pulling Harry’s hips further up his lap. The change in angle caused the head of his cock to nestle against Harry’s prostate with each thrust, and he wrapped his long fingers around Matty’s prick, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. 

Harry whimpered, cursing loudly, overrun with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty, m’gonna come—m’gonna—fuck, I love you so much, I’m gonna—“ he cut himself off as he came with a loud cry, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, Matty’s thumb brushing over the head of his cock. 

Matty rocked his hips forward slowly, once, twice, before he stilled, a soft sound of Harry’s name leaving his lips as he came. He collapsed on top of Harry, slowly sliding out of him, and he didn’t miss the small hiss that left his boyfriend’s— _Harry’s_ —lips. And, fuck, Harry was kind of his boyfriend, and just knowing that did something painful to Matty’s chest that he almost didn’t want to admit. “Sorry,” he whispered, 

“S’okay, feels good,” Harry slurred out, wrapping an arm around Matty’s back and sliding his fingers up into his hair, tangling around the curls at the base of his neck. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, ya said that already,” Matty teased. “A few times actually.”

Harry snorted. “Remind me not to compliment you on your sexual prowess ever again,” he grumbled. 

Matty grinned, biting at Harry’s collarbone.

“Hey,” he drew out, whining, tugging at Matty’s curls. “Mean.”

“Didn’t seem to mind the pain a few minutes ago.”

Harry flushed, shrugging. “It was…nice, yeah? Like, made me feel, I don’t know, good? Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” Matty reassured him, sliding off of his chest to curl against his side. His nose twitched at the sight of Harry’s spunk on his chest. “We can explore that more, if you want.”

Harry grinned and nodded. “I do want,” he told him, reaching up to play with the silver chain hanging from Matty’s neck. 

Matty hmm’d softly, nuzzling the side of Harry’s neck. 

“I like this,” Harry commented, tugging on the chain. 

Matty grumbled and sat up, slipping the chain over his head and clasping it around Harry’s neck.

“Matty—“

“S’what boyfriends do, yeah?” he muttered, ignoring the flush that rose to his cheeks. He didn’t look for Harry’s reaction, just curled back up against his side.

“We’re boyfriends?”

Matty shrugged.

Harry laughed softly, reaching for his shirt and wiping his stomach off, tossing the shirt aside. “I wanna be your boyfriend,” he decided. 

“Probably for the best. How will we have half-cats otherwise?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, shoving at Matty’s shoulder.

Matty grinned up at him, leaning in for a kiss. 

Harry smiled, his dimple deep, and he rubbed his nose against Matty’s. “I love you. I’m sorry I was stupid.”

“We were both stupid, yeah?” Matty said with a shrug. “I love you, too.”

 

+

 

Matty shouldn’t have been nervous, but he kind of was, because it was his first interview since he and Harry because _Matty and Harry_ to the public and, well. He told himself that at least his interview was with Grimmy, someone he knew, someone he had built a report with, and someone he saw way too frequently because of course his pop star boyfriend was best friends with Nick Grimshaw. 

(But, really, he would just use any excuse he could to call Harry his _boyfriend._ ) 

And he had been expecting more of a backlash since he and Harry… Well, _came out_ was an incorrect term because sexuality was fluid and people changed and, fuck, people could like whoever the hell they wanted, right? So it wasn’t…it wasn’t a matter of coming _out,_ not to Matty. It was huge, though, because Modest was trying to take control of the situation and Harry wasn’t letting him. And Matty was impressed and _proud_ that Harry was taking control of the reins, making the whole publicity stunt on his terms, and doing everything he could to make sure he and Matty were happy before anything else.

Matty was fucking _lucky._

Being with Harry Styles wasn’t exactly a walk in the park when it came to Modest and paps and whatever the hell else; all they could really do was be vague and noncommittal (but Matty wasn’t exactly good at that, sneaking kisses wherever he could and slipping his hand into the back pocket of Harry’s jeans anytime they were in public). So Matty might’ve taken a liking to making Modest’s job a lot harder after all the bullshit, whatever, it wasn’t like Harry was trying to _stop_ him. Harry had planned on addressing it later, during tour, so there was no “negative press,” as Modest put it, surrounding his new relationship. 

“So I already see you all the bloody time, but how are you, Matty heart-eyes-emoji Healy?” Nick asked with an exaggerated grin, peering over at Matty overtop of his microphone.

Matty smirked and rolled his eyes, lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug, refusing to comment on the _heart-eyes-emoji_ because he still wasn’t hip to the new lingo and, really, if it hadn’t been for Harry’s over-usage of emoji’s, Matty wouldn’t have even known what the fuck one _was._

“How’s your boyfriend?”

Matty laughed, covering his mouth a little and shrugging again. “I am so _not_ doing that, Grimshaw.”

Nick smiled, fiddling with his mobile. “That’s fine. I’m sure you love the _direction_ your life has taken in the past few months, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Matty said easily, nodding, and he didn’t care that he was flushing, didn’t care that Harry was blowing up his phone with—fuck, _heart-eye emojis_ and kissy-face emojis, what the _fuck_ —and just…didn’t care, generally, that George was shoving at his side and Grimmy was just _staring_ at him in a _I know you’re fucking my best mate, you better not break his heart or I’ll kill you and let Puppy eat your limbs_ way. “It’s brilliant,” he said simply, knowing he looked extremely pleased with himself. And he really was, because fuck, he was dating _Harry Styles_ and they were doing things on their own terms, and it _was_ brilliant. 

And Matty went home later, to Harry’s house where he pretty much spent all of his free time, even when Harry was on tour. And he climbed into the bed they shared, the one where the sheets constantly smelled of Harry’s shampoo and Matty’s cigarettes, He propped open his laptop on his lap, flipping over to the livestream of Harry’s interview with the lads. They were in the city promoting their up-and-coming tour and new music video and _everything else_ they had going on. And Matty could’ve gone and waited for Harry, taken him out for dinner, but it would’ve been too crazy, and Matty was trying to _behave_ for Modest (only, not really). 

_”So the single ones are Harry and Niall, yeah?”_

_Harry laughed nervously, lifting his shoulder in a shrug._

_Louis rolled his eyes. “Niall’s single, yeah?”_

_Harry laughed again, looking away from the interviewer and focusing on the scuffed toes of his Chelsea boots._

_“Yeah, suddenly everyone is a huge fan of wearing all black and stuff! Bunch of weirdos,” Niall commented with a grin and a shrug, running a hand through his quiff._

_The interviewer turned towards Harry, resting her notecards on her lap and smiling. “Who is this mysterious lady, then? Your bandmates seem to have given away your secret.”_

_“Thanks,” Harry grumbled, elbowing Zayn in the side._

_“I didn’t even say anything,” Zayn said, elbowing Harry right back._

_“Yeah, who is the mysterious lady, Haz?” Liam asked with a laugh, cheeks flushed pink like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard._

_“Ha, mysterious is a good word, I reckon,” Harry commented, mindlessly reaching up to fiddle with Matty’s necklace, the silver chain with the pendant that Harry couldn’t explain to anyone else, the one that he had been wearing since the night Matty told him he loved him for the first time, on the lads dirty tour bus at some venue in the States that Harry would never forget. “We like each other,” he said with a shrug. “What else is there to say?”_


End file.
